


I Thought I Lost You

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Car Accidents, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitals, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor never quite remembers getting the phone call.</p>
<p>He knows from Laurel’s retelling that the call came while they were working trial prep at Annalise’s. He’s heard how he went white and his arm went slack and how the phone slipped from his fingers. He’s heard how Frank and Wes jumped up to keep him from falling and how Laurel picked up the phone to take down the information.</p>
<p>Connor doesn’t remember Asher taking his keys and slipping behind the wheel of his car. He can’t remember a moment of Asher driving them all to the hospital, guiding Connor’s car through the streets with the practiced air of one used to navigating the tricky maze of Philadelphia traffic with a sleek car and powerful engine at beck and call.</p>
<p>Connor does remember rushing the nurse’s station and demanding with a burst of breath, “Hampton! Oliver Hampton! They called me. There was an accident! He’s in – he’s in–”</p>
<p>+ </p>
<p>A Coliver Car Accident!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Thought I Lost You

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/post/137714883008/44-if-you-die-im-gonna-kill-you-7-i)

Connor never quite remembers getting the phone call.

He knows from Laurel’s retelling that the call came while they were working trial prep at Annalise’s. He’s heard how he went white and his arm went slack and how the phone slipped from his fingers. He’s heard how Frank and Wes jumped up to keep him from falling and how Laurel picked up the phone to take down the information.

Connor doesn’t remember Asher taking his keys and slipping behind the wheel of his car. He can’t remember a moment of Asher driving them all to the hospital, guiding Connor’s car through the streets with the practiced air of one used to navigating the tricky maze of Philadelphia traffic with a sleek car and powerful engine at beck and call.

Connor does remember rushing the nurse’s station and demanding with a burst of breath, “Hampton! Oliver Hampton! They called me. There was an accident! He’s in – he’s in–”

Connor doesn’t remember how he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He doesn’t remember how Michaela had to nudge her way in and shoot the overworked nurse an apologetic look before asking after Oliver.

He doesn’t remember how the man directed them to the waiting area with a kind smile but Connor does remember being handed a pager. It looked like the same type of thing handed out at restaurants, the type of thing to alert you when your table was ready while you killed time at bar with the rest of the people who also forgot to make reservations.

Holding the pager while he was waited – passing it back and forth in his hands and willing it to buzz – made Connor think of the Friday before last.

He’d been on the couch trying to decipher a brief for contract law when Oliver had come home. Acknowledging Connor’s greeting with a nod, Oliver had dropped his work and bag and coat in an unceremonious huff before announcing, “Put on shoes. We’re going out.”

With a smile, Connor let Oliver drag him off to a restaurant down the block where they’d been handed a pager, just like the one Connor was holding now, and been told to wait. Oliver snagged them a stool at the bar and insisted that Connor take it because “I sat all day. I want to stand for a bit.”

There, with Connor’s back resting against the bar and Oliver crowded in close, they waited for the pager to buzz while Oliver nursed a beer and Connor stuck to water. It was the first time in a nearly a week they’d really had a chance to just be and they spent the time talking about absolutely nothing. Oliver didn’t bring up work and Connor never said a word about Annalise. They just were wholly and completely themselves for forty-seven minutes and Connor had been almost disappointed with the pager buzzed and started blinking red.

Thinking about it now – about Oliver standing tall and vibrant in front of him, about Oliver smiling that wide and gummy smile Connor loved, about Oliver laughing so hard he almost almost shot beer out his nose – made Connor’s gut clench painfully as he crushed the pager in his fist.

Oliver was going to be fine.

Oliver had to be fine.

At one point, Connor remembers getting up to call Oliver’s mother. He remembers watching the clock over the nurse’s station, watching the seconds tick away while a co-worker of Mrs. Hampton’s tracked her down.

He doesn’t quite remember what he told her – it turns out neither of them do – but, whatever it was it worked for she was there standing in front of Connor the next time he looked up. He’d tried to stand, offer her his seat, but Wes was already up and offering up his vacated chair on Connor’s right.

Spotting Wes, Connor looked up. Wes was still here? Glancing around, he saw that they all were. Laurel and Michaela had pulled two chairs close and had their heads bent over a book. Wes was sitting back down in a chair now on Mrs. Hampton’s other side and Asher was heading back over with his arms laden with chips and candy and drinks from the vending machines.

They were all still here. The Keating Five. Differences and issues aside, Connor’s found family had circled the wagons and were waiting with him.

Settling herself in Wes’ seat, Mrs. Hampton took Connor’s hand in both of hers. He opened his mouth but hadn’t the faintest idea what to say. A doctor had come out a while ago to give an update but Connor doesn’t remember what she’d said. He hasn’t the faintest clue now what they’d spoken about in their brief encounter but Connor does remember that the doctor looked calm and confident and that he’d trusted her when she’d said, “I’m going to take care of him.”

Seeing Connor’s mouth hanging agape, Mrs. Hampton just shook her head. She squeezed his hand in hers and they both settled back to wait.

A little while later, Mr. Hampton rushed in. Full of apologies about work and coverage and traffic coming in from the suburbs, he bustled into the middle of the group. Connor started to get up again, move so husband and wife could sit together, but Mrs. Hampton didn’t let go of his hand. Connor opened his mouth to say something but she shook her head once again, so small Connor almost missed it. It turned out not to matter anyway because Wes was already standing again and Mr. Hampton settled on his wife’s other side.

So they all waited. Connor. The Hamptons. And the rest of the Keating Five.

Minutes, hours, days later the pager started to buzz in Connor’s hand.

Without memory of the how, Connor found himself standing in front of that self-same doctor from earlier and he couldn’t tell if she looked happy or sad, resigned or elated. She started to gesture them into a small, private room off the hallway but paused briefly and moved to open her mouth in objection.

Seeing it and remembering countless stories of horrors and history, Connor’s back straightened. At her raised eyebrow, everything he’d seemed to have forgotten hours ago – how to speak, how to act, how to react, how to attack – all came rushing back.

Half-formed speeches filtered through his head about rights and discrimination, about being emergency contacts and partners and family. He started to bare his teeth and sharpen his claws, preparing for a fight. They weren’t going to keep him away. They weren’t going to keep him from Oliver.

But Mrs. Hampton saw the doctor’s expression too and preempted anything else. She turned to the group following them and said, “Family only now.” Wes and Michaela, Laurel and Asher all nodded and said quick goodbyes to Connor with hugs and handshakes and “Call us if you need”s.

Then Mrs. Hampton turned back to the doctor expectantly and simply said, “We want to see him now.” With a nod, the doctor led them away to a consultation room.

There she sat them all down and explained what happened, the accident and trauma. The doctor discussed briefly what they’d done to repair the damage and what they expected to occur when Oliver woke up. She talked about what was going to come over the next few weeks and therapies and treatment programs and what they all needed to do to help Oliver recover.

The doctor spoke so much, threw so much information that them, that Connor remembers his head reeling with it. It was too much, too fast and he couldn’t process it all; he couldn’t disconnect from what she was telling him. He kept getting tripped up because she’d say things like The right lung was punctured and Connor wanted to jump in to correct that Oliver’s right lung had been punctured. This wasn’t just another patient of hers, just some other unfortunate victim of a traffic accident, this was Oliver. Connor’s Oliver.

Connor’s Oliver whose lung had been punctured and ribs and been broken. Connor’s Oliver who has a severe concussion and is still slowly waking up from the anesthesia. Connor’s Oliver who was being moved into the ICU.

The Hamptons, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be having the same issue. Maybe it was something to do with being parents. Maybe it was being thrust back into the role of Oliver’s advocate, their muscle memory taking over from all those years and those appointments since Oliver’s birth. Maybe it was something else all together but, regardless, they were amazing.

Mrs. kept pressing the doctor, asking question after question and prying out more information while Mr. challenged parts of the doctor’s diagnosis and requested to speak with someone else about getting a second opinion. They were detailed and engaged and thorough and Connor watched them in awe.

Yes, they were talking about his Oliver but they were also talking about their Oliver and they seemed to be dealing with this all better than he was.

Connor knew wasn’t a contest or competition but, as they headed out of the room, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed. Like he was invading on a private, family matter. Like he was the third wheel. Like he was spectator to their trauma. Like he didn’t really belong.

As such, he hung back as they were shown to Oliver’s room, waiting for them to see Oliver first, not wanting to intrude. But Mr. Hampton paused outside Oliver’s door and took a step back, placing a steady, supportive hand on Connor’s shoulder even as he guided Connor forward. Mrs. Hampton took Connor’s hand rather than her husband’s and they both waited for Connor to lead them all into the room.  
Connor remembers how still Oliver was as he took his first tentative steps into the room. They were silent as they walked over and Connor rested a hand on the guardrail, too afraid to touch.

There was a breathing tube under Oliver’s under his nose, a clamp on his finger and an IV in his hand. There were monitors beeping and buzzing around but under all that noise and energy Oliver was so still. Connor reached out for Oliver’s hand and he’s breath shook with relief when he found Oliver’s skin warm under his palm.

Mr. Hampton stood at Oliver’s feet, taking in the sight of his son broken and bruised, while Mrs. leaned over to brush cool lips on her son’s forehead and brushed back his hair.

“My sweet boy,” she whispered. Her eyes raked over him, taking in the bruises and the cuts and the trauma. “What have they done to your body?”

She leaned down then, bending lower to whisper something in Oliver’s ear, and Connor turned away. Giving the pair of them a moment of privacy and taking a moment to swipe at the tears stinging his eyes.

The hours after that became a bit of a blur. The doctor stopped in once to speak with them and then the second doctor Mr. Hampton requested came by too. In between the doctor’s visits, Oliver woke for the briefest of moments before slipping back under. The nurses they called in in a panic told them that it was normal and Oliver was fine, relatively speaking.

Oliver’s sister arrived at some point. It had been hours since Connor looked at a clock but her son was in tow so he’d figured it was after school. The boy pulled up a chair next to Connor on the left side of the bed while the other three Hamptons gathered on the right, speaking in hushed tones that Connor couldn’t pick up.

At one point, Oliver’s nephew whined to his mother about being hungry and Connor offered to take him down to the cafeteria. He needed a break, a moment to breathe just a little. The stress and strain were grating on his last nerve and he felt himself buckling under the weight of the Hamptons’ collective gaze.

Down in the cafeteria, Connor bought the kid a $12 turkey sandwich and got a large coffee for himself.

“Hey, Uncle Connor.”

Connor’s head snapped up. When had he earned the privilege of being Uncle Connor to Oliver’s nephew? “Yeah?”

“Uncle Oliver’s going to be okay.”

Connor knew he shouldn’t ask but he did anyway. “How do you know?”

The boy just shrugged and held out half his sandwich for Connor to take. “‘Cuz he just is.”

Later that night a nurse stopped by to gently inform the collected group that, “Visiting hours are over.”

“Can I–?” Connor began before catching himself. He was part of a family now. “Can we stay?”

“Just one,” the nurse said with a smile before continuing on his rounds.

After a beat of awkward silence, Oliver’s sister gestured to the boy sleeping on her shoulder and said, “Well. I should get this one to bed.”

After their daughter and grandson left, a look passed between Oliver’s parents before they too rose.

“You stay,” Mrs. Hampton told Connor with a finality that left no room for argument but Connor couldn’t help the “You sure?” that slipped out.

She looked down at her son with a fond smile and then back at Connor. Cupping his cheek, she whispered, “You stay and watch him for us.”

Connor nodded.

“You call me if anything happens.”

Another nod. “I promise, Mrs. Hampton.”

“No.” She shook her head at that. “You are my son’s so you are mine. You call me Mom.”

Touched and humbled, Connor didn’t trust that himself to get the words out so he just nodded again and she pulled him in for a hug. While she moved to say goodnight to her son, Mr. Hampton held out his hand for Connor to shake and, soon enough, then they were both gone and Connor was alone.

He remembers not being sure exactly what to do with himself as he pulled his chair closer to Oliver’s bedside.

Checking to make sure the nurses weren’t watching, Connor folded down the guardrail so he could rest an elbow on the bed. He ran a fingertip down Oliver’s forearm before taking Oliver’s hand. Threading their fingers together, Connor lifted Oliver’s hand to kiss the back.

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you,” Connor whispered to the still sleeping Oliver.

He reached up and ran a thumb over Oliver’s cheek, waiting for Oliver’s eye to crack open, willing Oliver to turn and look at him. Oliver remained still, sleeping. Connor twisted a hand in the blanket and buried down the fear the choked him.

“Please. Please, Ollie.”

At one point during the night, one of the nurses slipped Connor a blanket and pillow. “Don’t tell,” she whispered as she smuggled him the parcel.

Connor thanked her but once she’d gone he arranged the blanket over Oliver’s legs, making sure to tuck it in carefully around Oliver’s feet. Smoothing the blanket so it laid flat, Connor rubbed a hand over Oliver’s feet and hoped the blanket helped ward off any draft.

He thought about how cold Oliver’s feet were, how he normally complained “Get those icicles away from me!” when Oliver’d slip his feet under Connor’s as they readied for bed. Then and there, Connor vowed to never again complain when Oliver used him as his own personal heater.

Pulling his chair closer and careful to not disrupt any of the tubes and wires, Connor rested on the edge of the bed near Oliver’s hand. He folded the contraband pillow in half for an extra bit of cushioning and crossed his arms on it, resting his chin down on his forearm.

He remembers sitting there for what felt like hours, days even, watching the light rise and fall of Oliver’s chest with each breath, listening to the soothing beep and hum of the machines.

Connor doesn’t remember falling asleep during his vigil at Oliver’s bedside but he remembers waking up.

It wasn’t the early morning light dancing behind his eyelids or the uncomfortable position that woke him. It wasn’t the noise of the machines or the bustle of the nursing staff.

Connor woke, as he had so many mornings before, to Oliver threading gentle fingertips through his hair.

Connor hummed and leaned into the soft touch before lifting his head. Blinking and confused, he took in the unfamiliar room and strange surroundings – where where they? – before snapping to attention.  
They were in the hospital. Oliver had been in an accident. Oliver was sleeping. Oliver!

“Oliver!” Connor bolted up, standing so fast he knocked over the chair. He pressed Oliver’s hand to his cheek. “Ollie!”

“Hi,” Oliver croaked out. He blinked slowly and looked down at himself then at the room around them. “Wha – wha–?” Unable to finish, he turned searching eyes to Connor.

“There was an accident,” Connor managed to get out, holding back the overwhelming wave of relief that stung at his eyes, choked his throat. “You’re in the hospital.”

“Hospital?”

Oliver looked so confused and groggy and Connor knew he had to get someone. “Hang on,” he said, squeezing Oliver’s hand as he prepared to let go. “I’ll go get a doctor.”

“Wait!” With his feeble strength, Oliver tried to cling.

He tugged at Connor’s hand and Connor moved a step closer, then another. Oliver lifted his other hand and tried to grip Connor’s shirt but the pain meds he was taking make him weak and uncoordinated and his hand just flopped against Connor’s chest. Connor held Oliver’s hand close to his chest and Oliver sighed as he leaned against Connor’s strength.

“What happened?” Oliver sighed out. “Tell me again.”

“There was an accident and–” Connor closed his eyes and reveled in Oliver’s breath ghosting against his hand. “I thought I lost you.” Connor bent to kiss Oliver’s head and tuck his face into Oliver’s hair, breathing Oliver in. “I almost lost you, Ollie.”

“No.” Oliver closed his eyes and snuggled in closer. “Never lose me.”

Connor huffed a laugh. “Promise?”

Oliver nodded. “Promise.”

They held each other close for a minute and then one more before Connor reluctantly let go to find a nurse.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


End file.
